


Night Light

by Skraeling



Series: Daemons!AU [1]
Category: His Dark Materials (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, The Expanse (TV), The Expanse Series - James S. A. Corey
Genre: Amos backstory, Child Abuse, Dark, Graphic Violence, Kidfic, Mentions of Prostitution, Neglect, but nothing graphic, daemon!AU - Freeform, slight book spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:20:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22053184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skraeling/pseuds/Skraeling
Summary: My take on Amos' backstory from when he's very young and as such is very dark and almost made me cry whilst writing it. Slight spoilers for the book the Churn but nothing major. Daemons!AU because I'm on a His Dark Materials kick atm. Might end up being a part of a larger series of fics.
Series: Daemons!AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1587331
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	Night Light

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbeta'd so any mistakes are mine. There are very slight spoilers for the Churn in the fact that Amos is called Timmy for this fic which is his canonical name from before he goes into space. For those who haven't read His Dark Materials, there are a couple of things to know about daemons-  
> 1) Daemons are the physical manifestation of a persons' soul and disappear when they die  
> 2) Daemons take an animal form that represents the person's personality  
> 3) Daemons can change shape during childhood and settle to their final form during adolescence   
> 4) Daemons and their humans can only go so far from each other without pain- it's a couple of metres, maybe 5 or 6 pushing it  
> 5) It's completely taboo to touch another person's daemon

Attie’s soft little legs tickle Timmy’s nose as she crawls around on his skin and he has to stifle the urge to sneeze. Her soft green light is all the illumination present in the room, so she sticks to his face as much as she can to give him what little comfort she can provide. Timmy absolutely hates the dark; the basement is so full of precarious piles of junk he has to stick to one tiny corner to avoid being buried. There’s very little to do so he’s almost always bored. Boredom has led to him picking up odd habits like stroking a little patchy teddy compulsively. Attie and he spend the rest of the time talking, but he can’t raise his voice above a whisper, which got tiring after a few days. 

Pressure builds in his bladder and Timmy grits his teeth. Water drips somewhere off in the black, urging him to let go. But he _can’t_. Peeing means leaving the threadbare nest of blankets in the corner and moving to the opposite side of the basement. Moving means that Attie will have to become an owl, or a cat, or some other small creature that can see in the dark so she can guide him. 

The soft fur will be a comfort. But the darkness that comes as a consequence will cause the small, ever-present beast of fear in his chest will grow into an angry, furious thing, desperate to get out. It hadn’t been so bad at the beginning, but over time his mind had started to play tricks on him; any sound in the dark becomes a monster coming to eat him. The fear of the dark had slowly begun to build day by day over the weeks he’s been down there. If he gives in to his fear, he’ll scream. He’ll keep screaming until his lungs give out. He will keep screaming until someone hears him and comes to investigate. And then _they_ will come. The ones that had hurt his Momma. The ones that make her cry in her sleep, that make her take her special candy until all she did was stare blankly at the ceiling. Timmy hated it when his Momma didn’t respond. 

Timmy’s Momma had stopped responding entirely almost three months ago. Lydia had taken one look at her, then at Timmy crouched on the floor, Attie curled around him, then took him by the arm and dragged him down to the basement. She’d hissed at him to be quiet, that she’d be down with food soon. Every night, after the guests had all finally gone home, she’d bring him a handful of protein bars, two big flasks of water and a small handful of vitamin pills every now and again. Lydia said that it was better that he stay down here in the dark; he’s not sure why but he trusts Lydia, she’d always helped look after his Momma/.

Sharp pain races through Timmy’s hands. Slowly he unclenches his fingers, his palms wet and sticky. He frowns in the vague direction of his hands- he hates the sticky feeling of blood under his nails but without much light, he never seems to fully manage to get it all out. He takes three, big shuddering breaths.   
“Attie, I need to pee.” His voice is so small in the dark.   
“Ok,” Attie’s tiny voice is just as scared as his. 

One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Three. Attie’s light disappears leaving a blue after-image in its place. Warm fur settles around his neck, then sharp teeth nibble gently on the lobe of his ear. Timmy whimpers without meaning to. Clenching his fists again, he gathers up his bravery. “Ok Attie, I’m ready,” He whispers. 

“Turn to the right. Yes, that’s it. Two little steps forward. Turn again…” Attie whispers in his ear, guiding him through the junk heaped room. Her breath stirs the hairs on his temple. Sharp claws press through the ragged fabric of the too-big t-shirt. 

Timmy has to stop and press a fist to his mouth and swallow down a whimper. Attie’s weight suddenly grows heavier as she wraps a soft tail over his eyes. Somehow, it helps, even if only a tiny bit. 

Once he’s done, he throws himself down in the corner in relief, Attie once again becoming a firefly. The pressure is gone and the light back, he feels overwhelmingly better. He rummages through his blankets for another protein bar. It had been difficult in the beginning to time when to eat so that the bars would stretch through the day but now he could set a watch by his stomach. 

Nothing. Just a handful of cornstarch wrappers.   
“Where’s Lydia?” Attie whispers in his ear.   
“Dunno,” He mumbles through a mouthful of cornstarch. There was no flavour but it was better than nothing. A few drops of water drip out of the flask into his mouth to help wash the unflavoured mush down. 

“That’s all the water gone too,” Attie warns. Timmy drops the flask onto the blanket with a muffled thud. Smooshing up the single, lumpy pillow, he tries to get comfy, the tiny teddy tucked into his armpit. When his eyes are shut and he’s barely awake, Attie becomes something large and warm. Gently, she takes a hold of him in massive paws, then shuffles around until he is lying in the hollow space between her belly and paws as she curls up herself.

_______________________________________________________________________

Pain lurches him out of sleep, confused he tries to work out what’s going on. Above him, barely visible in the meagre light of the single LED bulb, a man leers down at him. Bad teeth are yellow and twisted in a thin-lipped mouth. Limpid blue-grey irises stand out against uncomfortably reddened sclera. Drops of spittle splat unpleasantly on Timmy’s face; he wipes them off with his free hand whilst struggling to get out of the man’s painful grip on his wrist.

“Lookit, what I’ve found!” The man- Bad Teeth- crows in delight. His rottweiler daemon has Attie by the scruff of her neck. She twists and bucks, but the jaws are too strong for Attie to get free. Timmy can feel the pinch of teeth through the bond on the back of his neck and shoulders and he wriggles trying to soothe the pain. 

Another man, older, with thin salt-and-pepper hair and a jewel-green snake daemon looped around his neck grins maliciously. Timmy recognises the man as the second-in-command to the man who runs the place. Fury grows in his belly when he realises that this was the man who most often beat his Momma.  
“Well, ain’t ‘ee a pretty one!” He says, dirty nails digging into Timmy’s face painfully, turning it this way and that. “‘Ee’s just wha’ the Boss has bin’ lookin’ for!” He takes Timmy’s other arm and hauls him up and toward the exit of the basement.

Ice-cold fear fills Timmy’s gut and he kicks out at the men, trying to fend him off. A flailing foot catches Thin Hair in the genitals and he drops Timmy with a pained grunt. Bad teeth uses Timmy’s distraction to land a blow to his temple. Timmy goes limp, stunned by the blow.

Attie roars and bucks her way free of the hold on her scruff. Even as young as they are, as a bear, her size isn’t too far off that of the rottweiler’. She charges at her, bowling her off her feet. While Bad Teeth howls in pain and loosens his grip, Timmy struggles free. Turning Attie runs at full pelt towards Thin Hair. Standing on her hind legs she reaches his waist. He yells in pain as she shoves him onto his back then lays his belly open with her huge claws. 

Timmy crouches as far away from the action as he can, fingers wound into his hair, whimpering in fright. Bad Teeth staggers to his feet, yelling for help. He and his rottweiler both launch at Attie. She tears at Attie’s scruff while he _lays his hands on her shoulders_ and begins to pull her away. 

Timmy drops onto his side, all control over his muscles gone, the all-consuming feeling of _wrong_ stunning him further. All he can do is watch Bad Teeth heave Attie off of the fallen man, the rottweiler tearing at her with her teeth. Pain tears through Timmy, and it’s worse than anything that he’s ever felt before. Eyes unfocusing, he watches as bright scarlet blood drips onto the floor, then glow gold and dissipate like mist in the sun. Just as Sollus, his Momma’s daemon had done when she died. 

Something collides with his head and sound becomes muffled. Attie is lying on the floor, not moving, outside of what is comfortable for them to be apart. An awful screaming, tugging feeling that’s centred in his chest drowns out all of the pain. Slowly, he crawls across the floor trying to reach her. He’s just at the point where the pain lessons a fraction when a kick to his stomach sends him sprawling away from her. 

On his back, desperately trying to catch his breath, Timmy stares upwards to see three men glaring at him with hatred in their eyes. They’re obviously shouting something at him, but he can’t hear it. Physical pain and emotional pain from being too far from Attie have clouded his mind so much that even if he could hear he still wouldn’t be able to make out what they’re hearing. A boot descends quickly towards his face then all is black. 

_____________________________________________________________________

Everything is completely black when he wakes. Everything hurts all over, hurts in a way that tells him something is wrong in a way that it’s never been wrong before. Timmy assumes that something must be broken. 

“Attie,” he rasps, throat as dry as cornstarch wrappers and his tongue thick. “Attie become a firefly, or glow warm, I can’t see,” he sobs. There’s no reply from the blackness. He can’t even hear her breathing. 

“Attie?” He wails, not even trying to be quiet. There’s no reply. Timmy begins to sob, curling in on himself desperately. He must be dead. Attie must be gone. She’d talk to him if she was here. 

He’s dead. And there’s nothing. No Momma, no light, no pearly gates. Nothing. Nothing but blackness, and pain, and loneliness. He’s all alone. He’s never been alone before. 

Timmy wails and sobs and claws at his skin alone in the dark, dead as the countless billions that had come before him. 

When he can’t cry any longer, he lays on his back. Eyes open, eyes closed, it doesn’t matter. There’s nothing but black. 

_________________________________________________________________________

Light filters red through his eyelids. Fluttering his eyes open slowly, strange shapes hulk against the grey above him. It takes a long time for his eyes to focus on the jumbled piles of furniture that made up the basement. Turning his head slowly he’s greeted with the sight of a bear muzzled and trussed up like a fly in a spiders web. 

It takes a long moment for his foggy mind to register that the bear must be Attie. And if Attie was there, he couldn’t be dead. If Attie was there, why didn’t she change into a firefly so he could see? Why hadn’t she replied to him?

Later, in Lydia’s room, he’s sat curled on her lap. 

“Lydia, why didn’t Attie be a firefly so I could see that I could see her?” He says slowly, tiredness loading every syllable. 

“Timmy, I think Attie may have settled, sweetie,” Lydia explains gently. “If she’s settled, she can’t be a firefly any more.” 

“Oh,” is all that he says in reply. 

Attie curls around him on the bed, the muzzle still keeping her mouth shut. Together they drift off, glad that Lydia lets them keep a light on in the room. Even though daemons aren’t supposed to settle until adolescence- Timmy is only five- Attie doesn’t ever change after that. But her huge bulk helps him in other ways- clients never dare get too rough with him and the men who run the brothel are always careful around him. 

Even when the muzzle is taken off, Attie never utters a single word again.


End file.
